Page 19 of Iced Out Mate

My eyes snapped open. “No, no, no.”

He laughed at how flustered I’d suddenly become. “That reaction is telling me the opposite.”

“Seriously, we haven’t. I just really like being in his presence, and I’m not sure if I should. Not because he’s a fuckboy or anything, but because I don’t think a trainer should be making things messy with one of the players.”

Emmy pursed his lips at that. The sound of a rowdy group of players echoed down the hallway but they continued on past the training room. I recognized Dyl’s voice in the group. It wasn’t difficult to pick out. And not just because I loved the sound of it, but because he was also the loudest. It made me smile—which I quickly tamped back down.

“I mean, if it’s something consensual between you two, and it doesn’t get in the way of the game, then I think it’s okay.” He put his hands up defensively. “I’m not sure if Coach will say something different, though. And this is coming from someone who thinks following their heart—and other parts of yourself—is important. The time we have with people we like and are attracted to isn’t as infinite as we sometimes trick ourselves into believing.”

That part hit me square in the gut. Especially coming from Emmy. “It’s a lot to think about, but I am attracted to him if I’m being honest. And not just physically. He draws me in with just a smile. I don’t know, it sounds cheesy, but I’ve never felt like that toward anyone.”

“Then I think it’s even more important for you to throw caution to the wind on this one.”

“Would it be good with the pack?”

“I’m the alpha and I’m saying it’s okay. So yes.” He gave me a friendly wink. Sometimes I forgot I was speaking to the Burlington pack’s alpha, simply because I knew Emmy from before he was ever even part of the pack. He definitely commanded power in his demeanor, whether on the ice or off it, but it wasn’t in a way that made others feel small or constantly reminded them of that power imbalance.

“Fine,” I said, feeling slightly more reassured. “Maybe I’ll leave myself open to the possibility.”

“I think you should.” He shifted on his feet, hands going into the pockets of his shorts. “Now, I can’t promise you he won’t break your heart. Dyl’s a free spirit in that sense, although I know lately he’s talked about finding something more serious.”

That was a bridge I’d have to cross once we reached it. It wasn’t as though I was planning on marrying him already. We weren’t even in the talking stages, although admittedly we had texted a couple of times since we last hung out. It was about stupid shit mostly, although some of the texts were just checking in with each other, which I quite liked. Especially when I’d texted him to say hey, and he replied that he’d just been thinking about me and asked how my day was going.

The sound of footsteps coming toward the training room made me pause. I waited to see if they would pass, but the squeaky sneakers grew louder and stalled just outside the door. “We’ll see what happens,” I answered Emmy just as George Winder, the assistant coach, walked into the training room.

Emmy held out a hand. I clasped it in mine as he pulled me in for a quick hug. “See you later for game night.”

“See ya,” I said. Emmy left the training room, grabbing a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge next to the door on his way out.

I turned my attention to George. He was dressed like someone who’d recently lost a lot of weight but hadn’t changed out their closet yet. His light blue button-up shirt looked two sizes too big, bunching up and spilling out from where he tucked it into his baggy jeans. He had a folder in his hand, his grip so tight on it that I could see it creasing the edge.

“Hey, Miles, I’ve got the injury reports from last season that you were missing.”

He handed the folder over. It was heavy and must have taken the entire morning to put together. I decided not to tell him I found the backup files the last trainer had left on the computer. “Thank you, George.”

“Of course. I’m glad I could help.” He seemed to almost go in for a hug but stopped himself short before awkwardly glancing around as if searching for an exit. There were a few different rooms—the rehabilitation room, the weight room, the steam room, my cramped little office. We stood in the rehab room where a few tables were set up along with the high-tech ice baths. Maybe George knew how to use them? “You’ve already helped me more than enough,” I said as I placed the thick folder on one of the tables and pulled out my phone, ignoring the awkwardness that still hung in the air. “But are you good with technology? I’ve been trying to connect my phone to this ice bath but it doesn’t work.”

He nodded vigorously and reached for my phone. “I’m the go-to tech support in my family. I can probably figure it out.” He walked over to the ice bath, turning on the digital display. “Never seen one of these. Pretty wild how much shit connects to our phones, huh?”

“Very,” I said, tidying up the resistance bands that hung on the wall while George worked on my phone. “It’s almost too much.”

“Totally too much. Also makes me wonder how many people have access to our phones, you know? Like we connect it to all this shit, but what if something’s connecting back?”

“The NSA better not have tapped my damn ice baths.”

George gave a deep belly laugh at that. I grinned. I wasn’t the type who made people laugh very easily, but it was nice when I got that reaction. Even if for some reason George’s laughter felt a little forced. “Annnd there you go. All connected.”

“Really?” I walked over and saw all the info displayed on the app. “Damn, you made that look easy.”

He shrugged in a way that said it was, but spared me by not saying it out loud.

“Whatever you need, just give me a call. I put my phone number in there too if that’s all right. Sometimes I’m easier to reach that way than through email.”

I didn’t quite know how to feel about George going and adding himself on my phone—I had very valid reasons to keep my personal information secure (and had a couple of dirty pictures I’d been wanting to send to Dyl but chickened out every time)—but I was around him the entire time and didn’t notice him scrubbing through my photo albums or text messages. I pushed away the discomfort and thanked him again.

“Have fun tonight,” he said as he started walking out.

“Huh?” I asked.